


Not From The Absence of Violence

by semele



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-18 02:44:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3553124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semele/pseuds/semele
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The skin on Raven's knuckles starts cracking some time in early November, and there is no single thing Bellamy can do about it.</p><p>(A short series of ficlets in which Bellamy and Raven work their way through the cycle of seasons.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Winter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [akzseinga](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akzseinga/gifts).



> Inspired by a quote from Richard Siken: "The gentleness that comes not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it".

The skin on Raven's knuckles starts cracking some time in early November, and there is no single thing Bellamy can do about it.

Somehow, his books never mentioned this part: the piercing chill he feels at dawn, annoyingly persistent sneezing, red skin on his face and hands, and the everpresent itch he vaguely associates with not having bathed in weeks. It's laughable to remember that when they landed, he had time to think of trifles, like war, and power, and alliances. He knows enough about the ground to expect that, come spring, he'll worry about those things again, but for now, his world shrunk to something tiny and barely manageable; to food he has to hunt or dig, to firewood he has to find -- and to the tiny tent he shares with Raven Reyes.

(It was a decision so simple he doesn't even remember making it. She needed his foraging almost as much as he needed her clever hands to build a shelter that would crumble in his. This is how they explain their arrangement to each other.)

"You need something for your hands when you work," he tells her when he sees the blood on her skin. "I think they're cracking from the cold."

Raven gives him an ugly look, and refuses to grace his suggestion with an answer, so Bellamy is smart enough to never mention gloves again. He has crude pair that does its job when he's carrying wood, but Raven could never even get a hold on a screwdriver wearing something like this.

He ends up rubbing her hands as gently as possible, warming them with his flesh and his breath until Raven lets her head drop, her forehead resting softly on his.

***

There are nights when their proximity is just too much, and they end up doing way more than simply huddling for warmth. Bellamy's had some greatly unimpressive sex in the past, but nothing's ever been as annoying as the few nights they share this winter. His fingers are stiff from work and cold, and when he reaches between Raven's legs, she greets him with a hiss instead of a moan. He tries to apologize for his clumsiness, but she won't have any of it -- instead, she flips them swiftly and straddles him, her teeth chattering, until he sits up and pulls her close.

They finish with him on top, because it's the easiest way to keep blankets from sliding down.

Raven never takes off her jacket now, and Bellamy gets used to her soft, padded body. By January, he doesn't exactly remember what her bare flesh felt like; Raven's skin shrinks to her hands, rough and torn under his lips, and to her injured leg he touches every evening, desperately trying to rub away stiffness and pain brought by the merciless weather.

"You don't have to do this," she barks one night when she's feeling particularly prickly.

"The hell I don't."

They're both hungry and sore after a day spent on pointless little fights that came to nothing; their roof is still leaking, and they've had nothing but some barely edible tubers and nuts. Bellamy feels weariness in his very bones, and they only way he can think of to chase it away is to press his lips to Raven's leg just above the knee.

Careful not to get his filthy hands on her thighs, he moves his head higher up until she arches her hips towards him. Before he moves to where she wants him, he takes a moment to press his unshaven cheek to her smooth, hot belly.

The sex is nothing to write home about; he doesn't exactly have the luxury to build her up the way he should. Afterwards, they share the best sleep they've had in weeks.

***

(He was supposed to move out come spring, but somehow he forgets to.)


	2. Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first thing Raven does when it gets warm is dragging Bellamy to the nearest stream.

The first thing Raven does when it gets warm is dragging Bellamy to the nearest stream.

Fine, maybe not the nearest, because they do take drinking water from the nearest, and they might be desperate, but they aren't stupid. Let's say: a stream in a reasonable walking distance.

The water is still a little chilly, but Raven doesn't care a fig; stripping feels like peeling off old skin, and she's sorely tempted to burn her jacket, but on second thought she tosses it into the stream instead. Bellamy, caution forgotten, is already stark naked and wading in the water, splashing himself like a baby duck.

“Don't you wish we had soap?” yells Raven to him, absurdly amused by the sight of him.

“You know, people used to use sand to scrub themselves in the past.”

“Can't say I don't see the appeal.”

She learned her lesson the hard way last year, so this time, instead of leaping into the water head first, she walks in slowly, letting her body adjust to the temperature. Bellamy is watching her intently, and it dawns on her that this whole thing should be quite awkward, but after the winter they've had, she is over feeling self-conscious around him. If he could handle her waking up lightheaded from hunger, or howling with pain from her stiff leg, he can handle having a bath together. 

Which reminds her that they probably should've started airing all their blankets before they left for the stream, because after they've washed themselves, they might actually be able to smell them again.

“What's wrong?” asks Bellamy, eyes fixed on her face. “Are you...”

“I want to burn everything we own,” she interrupts. “Not wash it, just burn it and get all new stuff. You think I can get away with it?”

He throws wet sand at her, and laughs as they scrub each other clean, but once Raven's finished getting all the grime off her hair, she notices that Bellamy already washed her jacket together with his own clothes.

***

The nights are still chilly, but the cold doesn't quite sink that deeply into Raven's bones, and little things start bothering again: the smell of stale sweat, and the taste of perpetually undercooked meat. Once it gets really warm, she promises herself, she'll design proper ovens – something solid, and with good air flow, so that they can stop just wrapping food in leaves and tucking it under embers. Possible disease aside, she's burned her hands one time too many.

For now, though, she has something else to do.

“Please tell me you didn't lift this from the Ark.”

“I did, but I'm the only one who knows how to use it, so they probably won't float me.”

Bellamy diplomatically ignores the comment about floating.

“What does it do?”

“Right now? Nothing. When I'm done with it? Hopefully it'll generate some power.”

He looks at her, startled. They've talked about this – some minor solar panels survived the crash of the Ark, but with the weather being what it is, they could barely boil a pot of water if put together. This is why they struggled so much this winter; they had nothing to charge their batteries, no way to produce electricity, and so in the end all they had to rely on was fire, and water, and iron. Their only alternative was moving into Mount Weather, and some of their people did just that, but Bellamy and Raven didn't even have to look at each other before they said “No way in hell,” and that was when they didn't share a tent yet.

“Power for what? It can't be much.”

“It's just enough.”

***

She feels slightly foolish once she's done, as if this was nothing to feel excited about – nothing to waste her time on, especially now when their camp is in shambles after the long winter, and they aren't exactly out of the woods yet. Food is still scarce, and it will be weeks before they can hope for fresh vegetables, so she should be figuring out things for hunting or cooking, things necessary for survival.

Instead, she spent five days making a desk lamp.

Bellamy stops short when he sees it, and touches the battery with childlike bewilderment.

“It's not much,” Raven rushes to explain. “But it will give you two or three hours each night, as long as you leave it outside to charge during the day.”

Bellamy, she knows, has a few worn books Octavia brought him from God knows where, books of stories that have nothing to do with survival, except she saw him squint at them by the fire on those terrible winter nights when they had nothing to put under their embers. Now he swallows audibly, still not quite believing the reality of the lamp, and Raven gives him an encouraging beam.

“Do you want me to read to you tonight?” he asks after a moment.

“Is your book any good? I mean, unless there's a lot of sex, I'm not interested.”

Only now, Bellamy cracks a smile.

“I'll see what I can do,” he promises.

To Raven's surprise, they do actually read a bit that night.


	3. Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summer is ridiculous in its abundance; for the first time in his life, Bellamy has more food on his hands than he could possibly eat, and Raven is working her hands off to preserve as much as she can.

Summer is ridiculous in its abundance; for the first time in his life, Bellamy has more food on his hands than he could possibly eat, and Raven is working her hands off to preserve as much as she can. Together with Monty, she's built a separate shed just for that, and now they're storing fruit, and nuts and seeds. Drying and smoking is going considerably better than planting, because no one in camp can remember the correct time for each plant, and all they have is wild guesses based on who was awake on which Earth Skills lessons back when they were kids.

Behind their tent, Bellamy and Raven have a furiously built oven, stout and gorgeous in its precision. It's like a big scar left after every failed batch of seeds; after every plough Raven couldn't push, and every tree she couldn't climb – the best oven in camp, burning so hot she could probably bake bread if there was any flour left.

That one time, she tries to melt iron scraps in it, and when they burn her, she makes a sound that brings back memories laboriously buried. Bellamy drops whatever rodent he's currently gutting, and runs to her without thinking, Raven, Raven, Raven, Raven, safe and sound, if a little worse for wear.

She barks at him when he tries to pick her up, so he steps back immediately, and turns, instead, to bring a bucket of water he was keeping in the shadow of Monty's tent. It's lukewarm at best, but there's nothing else at hand, so it'll have to do.

“We should go to the stream,” he says, eyeing her hand suspiciously. “This looks deep, and if you don't soak it...”

“Fine,” she cuts him off as she gets on her feet. “Fine, I'll go. You're such a...”

“I know.”

It's a long walk, fueled by pain and sheer stubbornness, Raven so far away she could as well be back in space. Bellamy knows better than to offer help, so he treks behind her step after heavy step, his fists clenched even though this time there is no one he could attack for her.

Once she plunges her hand into the cold stream, Bellamy crouches behind her, and starts rubbing her shoulders, then trailing soft kisses down her neck and further, until Raven's muscles relax and her breath deepens, Bellamy's fear soothing against her skin.

This, she allows.

***

It takes weeks for Raven's hand to heal properly – the wound festers and bleeds, and it doesn't help that Raven refuses to stop her relentless work. At first, Bellamy is terrified of infection, but once he sits down and forces himself to use his brain for a change, he has to admit that there is no real danger. The burn is big, and it probably hurts like hell, but Abby claims it isn't deep, and that's what matters most.

There are quite a few things he'd like to say to Raven just now, but for the first time in his life, he keeps his mouth shut.

They have some quiet days, and Raven spends them with Monty, planting seeds and smoking meat like her life depended on it, which, to be fair, it actually does. When she comes to bed at night, she's tired and prickly, and she starts talking about making a new bed, something less hard and most definitely less wobbly, way superior to this piece of crap they're using right now.

“We should build a cabin,” Bellamy blurts out. “When it gets cold again...”

“We'll need something that holds heat better,” Raven picks up with a glow in her eyes. Bellamy can see her hands moving subconsciously on top of the covers, picking an imaginary screwdriver, and he feels something tighten in his chest at the sight. The scars left by last winter are already fading, but he can still read them with his eyes closed.

Bellamy has stories whirling in his head, and he knows what he'd do if he were in one of them; he can see very clearly the little meadow where he'd take Raven, a place filled with lush, green grass and bright light of the full moon. The reality is much less glorious – they're in a dark, stuffy tent, and he reaches to touch Raven's face with a slightly grimy hand, their sheets coarse under their touch. When they finally kiss, their cot creaks so loudly it probably wakes everyone in the vicinity, and they can hear Miller let out an exasperated groan just a few feet away. Raven doesn't smell of fruit of flowers, but of sweat, and most of all smoke, and Bellamy is no better after a day of hunting, carrying and gutting.

“How tired are you?” he asks quietly, his cheek brushing against hers.

“Half dead. You?”

“Same. But I want...”

Raven nods before he can even finish, so he exhales heavily, and drops a soft kiss in the hollow of her neck. The night is short, and if they don't sleep soon, there will be hell to pay in the morning, but Bellamy is beyond caring. The pressure in his chest expands until his entire body is filled with breathless tenderness, skin and a little bit of teeth, Raven's lip between his as he reaches to undo her brace. 

Soon, he is naked under her hands, and she's naked too, both suddenly astonished by the abundance of time they have for this; hours upon hours of soothing, chilly air on their skin, familiar touch and hushed voices. Between kisses, they talk about wood, about foundation, hearth, and floors, but when Raven finally moves to straddle him, her skin glowing in the dim light of dawn, Bellamy doesn't regret his loss of words.

(They go fishing in the morning, before Monty can entangle them in his web of buzzing activity. They have some sleep to catch up on, just a few quick hours buried in damp, lush grass as they wait for something to swim into their traps, and if Bellamy goes down on Raven before they doze off on the green bank of the stream, then, well. No one ever said the stories were _entirely_ wrong.)


	4. Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy gets sick as soon as the cold rains start, and at first, Raven thinks nothing of it.

Bellamy gets sick as soon as the cold rains start, and at first, Raven thinks nothing of it.

Three quarters of their camp and about half of Mount Weather is sick, so Bellamy doesn't exactly stand out in this parade of coughing and sniffling. He doesn't even have a fever, unlike Miller, who is so ill his whole cabin seems to be shivering together with him. Compared to Miller, Bellamy is the very picture of health.

(Three people die quiet, unimpressive deaths in that first week of cold, and Raven puts a lot of effort into not thinking about it at all.)

Her cabin is almost ready by now, crude and chilly, but solid enough to actually keep them dry. Raven still grits her teeth every time she looks at the empty walls. She wanted to build a hearth, she really did, but in the end she didn't dare, the threat of smoke poisoning a constant presence in her mind. Next year, she promises herself, she'll figure it out, and then they'll have a real village, lush fields and thick little chimneys that mock the bone-deep chill of winter.

(See, until she does, those quiet deaths in camp are officially her fault.)

When she can't handle listening to Miller's coughing for a second longer, she hides in the cracking noises of the smoking shed, and works until she bleeds – until Bellamy comes up to her, and starts feeding one of the fires without as much as a word.

He doesn't mention the fresh cuts on her hands, and just because of this, she catches him in passing, and lets him brush his lips against her forehead.

“You should be in bed,” she says without real fire. She feels tired even though it's not really late, weariness setting into her body for a reason she doesn't care to think about, because she remembers it all too well from last year. Everything seems just a little bit slower in the dim autumn light.

“Yeah, well,” he clears his throat. “I thought I'd help.”

“Don't be ridiculous. Take your germs away from the food.”

As far as his plots to get her to call an early night go, this one is truly pathetic, but he's warm, and steady, and _home_ , just enough to make her crumble when normally she'd steel herself. 

(She would work until she dropped, dead sure that if only she can fight exhaustion for another moment, one moment, come on...)

Just tonight, he doesn't have to ask her to come to bed.

***

Right before dawn, Raven wakes with a start, certain that something just went terribly, terribly wrong. She looks around in panic, but nothing strikes her as odd – there are no sudden movements or unfamiliar sounds, the cabin warm and comfortably dark. It takes her a moment to register that she shouldn't be so warm, to notice Bellamy's heavy breath and flushed skin, and a faint sheen of sweat on his face.

When she finally makes herself touch his forehead, cold fear grips the very base of her spine.

There is nothing she can build to help – no brilliant solution she can come up with in that clever head of hers. She can't even run to the woods to fetch Octavia, or Clarke, or _someone_ , anyone, _please_. She sits in the cabin, her leg stretched mockingly in front of her, and after a few hours, she starts seriously considering smashing something just so she has a thing in her hands she actually knows how to fix.

If he dies, she knows, she'll die, too – starve quietly in the long winter months when everyone will have someone else to take care of first. 

So she holds Bellamy's hand as he shivers, all too aware of her obvious, painful uselessness. It's Monty who runs to Mount Weather, not her, and she doesn't even need to fetch water, because they still have a full bucket Bellamy dragged in last night. She knows she has to make him drink, so she focuses all her will on that, on begging, and dripping, and splashing until his pillow is damp and gross, and she's probably done more harm than good.

Octavia gets to them in the evening, her bag full of Grounder remedies, and Raven keeps her overnight, even though Bellamy gets lucid enough that they don't have to watch him round the clock – he can fix his own blanket and sip his own water, and he even tries to boss the camp around with hoarse comments Raven never passes to Monty, because, really.

“Just shut up and rest,” barks Octavia even as she mixes her suspiciously smelling herbs for him. Bellamy gives her a surprisingly warm smile.

“Say that to Raven, will you?” he asks before he drifts back into sleep.

***

There is snow on the ground by the time Bellamy can walk again, and food is tight – way tighter than it should be so early into the fall. Like it or not, Raven tries to hunt, and skin, and forage, endlessly frustrated, because even though they have much more than they had last year, this still isn't enough, never enough, not when the ground gets more and more solid every day, until nothing is green around them.

One day when Bellamy is strong enough to move around a bit, but not enough to do real work, she finds a pair of gloves under her pillow, skin-tight and carefully sewn, tiny stitches enveloping her fingers in a way that reminds her of something else entirely. They don't quite protect her from the cold, but when she's helping to mend the fence, and a sharp metal bar slips from Monty's hands directly onto hers, she gets away with a bruise instead of a gash slicing her palm open.

She lets him kiss her bruise later that night, exhilarated by the strength returning to his fingers, and if they whisper something in the dark, something about living, dying and debts, then, well.

They're only human.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Not From the Absence of Violence (Podfic)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6073786) by [penchant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/penchant/pseuds/penchant)




End file.
